


Orange Cookies

by Mychelle_Wilmot



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Between Episodes, Cookies, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Ghost!Abigail, M/M, Mentions of Will Graham/Molly Foster Graham, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, cooking together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mychelle_Wilmot/pseuds/Mychelle_Wilmot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m not a bad cook, but I never was able to make edible desserts, or even cookies.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps you were lacking a competent teacher.”</p>
<p>Will blinked, and then looked at Hannibal with a cocked eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Are you offering to teach me, Doctor Lecter?”</p>
<p>"I am, if you are interested," Hannibal appeared to be delighted by the possibility.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Making the Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy reading fucked up murder husbands dynamics, but apparently when it's my time to write, my brain only comes up with fluffy, because this is a fic with three chapters all about... cookies. And feelings.
> 
> This chapter is settled in early Season One, unbeta’d.

* * *

 

            When Will thought about that afternoon in retrospect, he didn’t know why he went to Hannibal’s house. He was never sure of why he felt the need to stay, when normally he would just wait until their next session to talk with him.

            Will didn’t had any urgent motivation, not when the latest case was solved with relatively few blood spilled in the end, permitting Will to have a second of peace. Will didn't even felt unwell in the past few days, besides his always present headache.

            But even so, he was driving without thinking too much in that day, and soon enough he saw himself in Hannibal’s doorstep, seeing the man smiling pleasantly at him.

            “Will. Please, come in.”

            Will walked into the house, trying to not stare too much at the walls. This wasn’t the first time he was inside Hannibal’s house, but he still wasn’t quite used with the exquisite, somewhat odd decor that the doctor adopted in his rooms.

            “I’m sorry I came unannounced,” Will said as Hannibal closed the door “I’m not honestly not even sure of why I came.”

            “I usually would not enjoy unannounced guests, but you are always good company, Will,” Hannibal gracefully said “You are always welcome to my home at any time, unannounced or not."

            Will gave him a small smile, hanging his coat.

            “If you keep giving me such leeway, don’t be surprised if someday I barge into your house without bothering to wait to be let in.”

            “Like an impatient housecat. Strangely enough, I do not think I would mind that either,” Hannibal said, giving him an amused look.

            Will had to look away first, not knowing exactly what to answer to that, not sure if Hannibal was joking or not. Will still had trouble interpreting Hannibal’s body language; the man was harder to read than most people.

            “I wanted to thank you for taking care of the dogs again when I was away,” Will said, not raising his eyes again “I appreciate it, especially when I asked you in the last minute.”

            “You do not need to thank me everytime I do it, Will,” Hannibal said, his tone kind “I honestly don’t mind. I would not do it if I did.”

            Will sighed, fidgeting with his hair. He was still so unused to simple, good heartedly acts of friendship coming so easy, without hidden intentions hiding behind.

            “I did not ask the details when you told me that the case was solved, but are you alright? Do you wish to discuss the case?”

            “It went… actually pretty well. The guy was arrested when he was lurking around his next target’s neighborhood.”

            “Did he surrender?”

            “No.” Will snorted “They rarely do. Jack shot him in the shoulder, but he’s fine.”

            More than fine, actually. Will would expect the guy to be unconscious or angry after he was shot, but he was annoyingly calm, and kept provoking Jack until the backup arrived. Will remembered seeing Jack gripping his weapon tighter, as if fighting the impulse to shoot the man in the face this time.

            “I imagine this must feel good, then.”

            “Well, yes. I mean, it’s always better if we just capture them, and not execute them during their arrest.”

            “With the benefit of saving an innocent life, your main motivator for staying working at the FBI.”

            It wasn’t really a question, and Hannibal was looking intently at him as he said these words; Will still nodded in confirmation.

            “Yes, is really the best part of it. But I didn’t… I mean, I don’t really want to talk about the case. It’s done, there wasn’t any casualties, no more dead girls. I’m good with that.”

            “This does seem like a good change in the routine of your line of work,” Hannibal remarked “But I will not press you to fill me in the details. We are not in therapy, and you are free to choose the subject you wish to talk with me.”

            Will felt grateful that Hannibal didn’t press the subject. He honestly didn’t want to wallow in that case much longer.

            He looked at Hannibal to say something, and his eyes noticed Hannibal’s apron hanging on his waist for the first time; Hannibal seemed to notice the curious look on his face.

            “I’m afraid you caught me during the conclusion of a culinary indulgence, Will,” Hannibal started to untie the apron from his waist “But I am glad that you are here. I would like to ask for your assistance.”

            Will furrowed his eyebrows, incapable of thinking about what exactly Hannibal wanted; Will considered himself a decent cook, but he was used to doing only basic things in the kitchen, and he couldn’t imagine what he could do to assist  someone as skilled as Hannibal.

            But even so, the almost eager look in Hannibal’s face was enough to make Will give him a slow, reluctant nod.

***

            “This is delicious,” Will said, his mouth still half full with cream.

            As it turned out, Hannibal’s culinary indulgence was a dessert that was already done and ready to be eaten, and apparently all that Hannibal needed was someone to taste it and tell him how good it was. Normally Will wouldn’t be so willing and fast in feeding Hannibal’s narcissistic tendencies, but the dessert did taste marvellous.

            “The  _Tiramisù_ is the most known and popular italian dolce,” Hannibal seemed delighted by Will’s good reception “Its main ingredient is the Mascarpone cheese, notorious for being sweet and creamy.”

            “It’s really good,” Will finally swallowed his mouthful “I never had eaten it before.”

            “It’s not often than I indulge into consuming Tiramisù, considering that my palate is not always favorable to sweet tastes, but the Tiramisù is one of the exceptions. I was very fond of its taste during my years on Italy, and I never grew tired of it.”

            “I have a sweet tooth,” Will admitted, eating another spoonful “But I always was a disaster when the subject is desserts. I’m not a bad cook, but I never was able to make edible desserts, or even cookies.”

            “Cookies are usually very easy to make. Why do you have trouble doing it?”

            Will swallowed the last piece of the dessert, and pulled his plate aside.

            “I’m not sure. They always end up being either burnt or uncooked. Lack of practice, maybe,” Will shrugged “Growing up, my dad only cooked the very basic and almost all his recipes included fish. I tried to learn more during my college years and I became better, but I never really learned how to do desserts and sweets. I’m not an overly skilled cook by any definitions.”

            “Perhaps you were lacking a competent teacher.”

            Will blinked, and then looked at Hannibal with a cocked eyebrow.

            “Are you offering to teach me, Doctor Lecter?”

            Hannibal smiled at the question.

            "I am, if you are interested," Hannibal appeared to be delighted by the possibility.

            Will hesitated.

            "I'm not sure I would be any good as a student."

            "Do not be so harsh on yourself, Will, I am sure you are more than capable. And thankfully for the both of us, I am very confident in my ability as a teacher."

            Will smiled a little at that, and considered the question seriously for the first time.

            Why not? He didn't have anywhere to go for the rest of the afternoon or even the night, and he didn't have anyone waiting for him but a loyal pack of dogs. If he stayed, he could maybe learn a skill that he always wanted to dominate, but lacked the ability. It was worth a try, even if it would be forcing him out of his cherished solitude.

            But even that wouldn't be a real problem. Differently from most people he had contact with, Hannibal wasn't a difficult person to be around. His calm exterior and his easy patience were always an anchor for Will's mind, and he didn't mind staying for a long time in the doctor's presence - he actually enjoyed these times, even his therapy hours.

            When he looked again at Hannibal was with a challenging look.

            "Alright then, Doctor. Teach me how to bake some cookies, if you can."

            Hannibal's smile was his only answer, and it was enough for Will to understand that his challenge was accepted.

            They cleared the table and Hannibal started pulling some ingredients on it, and instructed Will to wash his hands. He then retrieved his apron and tied it in his waist, and retrieved another one, similar to the one he was wearing and handed it to Will.

            “I never cook with an apron,” Will confessed, as he tied it around his waist “I don’t even own one.”

            “Then this one is yours, now.”

            Will started to protest, but Hannibal dismissed his complaints.

            “I insist. Aprons are very useful in a kitchen, and can make the art of cooking far more hygienic, especially when one have so many dogs as you do.”

            “I don’t let my dogs wander about in the kitchen when I’m cooking,” Will said, slightly offended at the implication.

            “I was not implying that you do, but you are a dog owner. A very dedicated owner of seven dogs, and your clothes can carry dog hair that isn’t easily removed in common washing, and an apron can impede the said dog hair from falling in the food you are cooking.”

            Will still felt slightly annoyed, but the reasoning did make sense, and so he reluctantly accepted the gift.

            “Thanks,” Will said, trying to not sound sarcastic;  Hannibal was nothing but kind to him since he knocked on his door, and Will didn't want to offend him, even if he still wasn’t going to wear an apron at his home.

            “You are welcome,” Hannibal said, smiling a little, and Will felt better about not deliberated being an asshole.

            “So, uh, what are we going to bake?”

            “Since you mentioned a fondness for cookies, I thought about one of my favorite pastries from my youth on Italy.”

            Will nodded, waiting to see if Hannibal would elaborate.

            “I thought about teaching you a more elaborate recipe, but I think it would be less intimidating if we started with something more simply, that does not require rare ingredients. This particular recipe I acquired from a very memorable elderly woman who owned the bakery who was located in the same street as my uncle’s house. I never forgot that recipe.”

            “What does it taste like?” Will asked. He didn’t comment, but he was relieved that Hannibal wasn’t trying to teach him how to cook some very elaborated gourmet cookie that Will would never have the energy to do alone.

            Hannibal raised one of the ingredients he had just put on the table; it was an orange.

            “It has a very delicate texture; if made in the correct way, it will melt in your mouth.”

            Will smiled a bit awkwardly.

            “Let’s see, then. What, uh, what should I do?”

            “I will slowly guide you in what you should do, but for now you can cream three quarters of a cup of butter and one third of a cup of sugar while I get the eggs and the vanilla.”

            Will nodded, focusing all his attention on what he was doing. It was good to do something that was manual work but that didn’t push all his limits, and that at the same time was something new. Will was trying his best to absorb every word that Hannibal said, so he would be able to remember how to do the recipe by himself when he was alone, if he liked the flavour.

            It was quite easy to follow Hannibal’s instructions. He moved effortlessly in the kitchen, with grace and ability, like a big cat stretching in his territory. Will dutifully followed Hannibal’s instructions when he told him to add the eggs, the vanilla and the orange juice, and Hannibal measured the flour and baking powder, slowly putting it in the mixture as Will worked the dough.

            When it was time to knead the dough on the table, Hannibal turned to him.

            “Do you want me to take over now?”

            “I think I would prefer to have the whole experience,” Will said, surprising himself in how sincere he sounded; he really wanted to make the whole process if he could.

            “As you wish,” Hannibal said, clearly satisfied.

            Hannibal guided him in how long he should knead the mixture, and in how he could roll the dough in small parts, 6-inch lengths, and started to help Will into moulding it into rings.

            “The process is the same for it all, so they will be done quicker if I help you,” he explained.

            Will didn’t answer, but he moved aside to make space for Hannibal to work.

            When they finished the rings, Hannibal put it all in ungreased cookie sheets.

            “Now we let it rest for fifteen minutes before we put it on the oven,” Hannibal explained as he started to clear the table.

            Will nodded, stepping aside awkwardly, not wanting to stay on Hannibal’s way.

            “Do you, hm, need any help cleaning?”

            “That won’t be necessary. I will wash everything after we make the icing,” Hannibal said as he wiped the table.

            “You are a very neat cook,”Will observed with no surprise; except for the cookies and the unwashed utensils, everything was clean and in its right place again.

            “I’m used to cook a large amount of food, often with very elaborated details. In these kind of conditions, one learns to become an organized cook or one descents into chaos.”

            “I’m afraid I have adopted the chaos,” Will smiled a little with the pained look on Hannibal’s face “It was the only way I learned how to do anything kitchen-related.”

            “Perhaps I can rub some good habits on you, then,” Hannibal’s voice actually sounded a little hopeful.

            “Perhaps,” Will conceded “But don’t hold your breath, Doctor. Old tricks are hard to unlearn.”

            “I’m nothing if persistent.”

            Will surprised himself with a small laugh.

            “I don’t think I ever met someone so passionate about food as you are.”

            “Food is a form of art, and I am very passionate about every form of art. It’s not merely a gain of nourishment, “ Will thought he could see Hannibal’s eyes actually sparkling when he was talking “It’s an act of transforming something rudimental in something better, improved. It’s the act of consuming a life, be it a life of a vegetal or the life of something else.”

            “It’s a very particular view, but I can see how it can be seen this way. I guess for me it was always little more than nourishment,” Will said, almost apologetic.

            “Because of your childhood?”

            “Maybe. Probably,” Will scratched his head “I mean, I never starved, dad always had some food on the table for us. But we didn’t have money for diversity. Sometimes I would spend two weeks eating only soup and canned beans, or a whole month eating rice and fish. I could eat a fruit if we were living in somewhere near trees, and I almost only ate chocolate if I was sick. Things got better when I was a teenager, but I think it was already too late for my palate.”

            “It’s never too late to learn good habits.”

            “Yeah, but what you learn on your childhood has the nasty habit to sticking with you.”

            “Sometimes,” Hannibal agreed “Sometimes not. Sometimes one can learn to ignore or to compensate a habit acquired on one’s childhood.”

            Something in Hannibal’s voice aroused curiosity in Will.

            “Is your culinary passion a way of compensation?”

            “I would not simplify my hobbies in this way,” Hannibal said, almost scoffing at the idea “But I suppose there is some truth on the idea. The period after my parents’ death and before my uncle adopted me was a very... trying time.”

            Will thought that was probably an euphemism, and immediately felt bad about his prying; he forgot that Hannibal once mentioned that he became an orphan early in his life. Despite his sumptuous and elegant style of life, he probably was a starving child for a few years in his life, in the kind of poverty that comes with abandon that Will thankfully didn’t experienced in his childhood.

            But before Will could say something else he would regret, Hannibal turned to him.

            “It’s time to bake the cookies, now. It will take more or less fifteen or seventeen minutes, and we can make the icing during this time.”

            Will nodded, and helped Hannibal put the cookies in the oven.

            “How do we make the icing?” He asked when they were done; Hannibal was already putting some ingredients on the table.

            “It’s a very simple icing. Confectioner’s sugar and orange juice, until it makes a thin glaze. Would you like to do?”

            “Yeah,” Will said “Just tell me when I should stop. I’m not sure I know the right texture for a thin glazed icing.”

            After a few minutes, Hannibal did so, and five minutes later, they were taking the steaming cookies out of the oven.

            “The smell is very good,” Will said, as they put the cookies on the table again.

            “And the taste will be even better,” Hannibal promised with a smirk in the corner of his lips.

            They worked in putting the icing on the cookies together, and the process was much quicker than before, and in no more than five minutes they were done.

            “Before you experiment, let me wipe the table and put them on a plate,” Hannibal said when Will had just picked up a cookie; he nodded and patiently waited, fighting a smile, Hannibal’s need of presentation seeming more endearing than annoying in that moment.

            At least, Hannibal put the cookies in one of his beautiful, elegant plates; the cookies were a far cry from the fancy desserts he usually displayed, but they seemed just as delicious for Will.

            “Can I prove one now?” Will asked, not resisting the opportunity to tease a little.

            “Of course. It’s only fair for you to enjoy the flavour of your hard work.”

            With that, Will finally brought a cookie to his mouth, biting a piece.

            As soon as his tongue came in contact with the cookie, he felt the sweetness of the sugar contrasting with the slightly acid taste of the orange and the taste of the tender, creamy texture, and he didn’t managed to swallow a moan.

            “I take it is to your liking?” Hannibal asked, smug as hell.

            “It is, yes,” Will answered; normally he would have the impulse to deny Hannibal the satisfaction, but it seemed pointless in this case.

            “I’m not surprised. I always had great confidence in your abilities,” Hannibal smiled, an actual smile that wasn’t just a quick upturn of his lips.

            “As much as I appreciate the faith, you wouldn’t think so if you had tasted the cookies I baked in the past.”

            “Maybe,” Hannibal conceded “But this one does appear to be delectable.”

            “Be the judge then,” Without stopping to think about what he was doing, he extended a cookie in the direction of Hannibal’s mouth.

            It was only when Hannibal raised an eyebrow that Will realized what he had done and the implications, and he felt himself growing warmer. But before he could retreat his arm, Hannibal bit down on the cookie. His lips didn’t touch Will’s fingers, but he felt the hot air of Hannibal’s breath in his fingertips during those milliseconds, and he felt his face growing even hotter as he lowered his arm.

            “Truly scrumptious, Will,” Hannibal praised, and Will couldn’t find it in himself to make eye contact.

            “Hm, thanks. Is it like the ones from your youth?”

            Hannibal shook his head.

            “Not quite, no. Two tastes are never the same. It’s different, but your version is no less tasteful, and I quite enjoyed it.”

            Will managed to raise his eyes to Hannibal again, feeling better at the soft expression in the doctor’s face, even as he still felt the residual feelings of heat in his own face.

            “Thanks,” Will managed to say “I wouldn’t have managed without your help.”

            “You are most welcome. If our little adventure today helps you on the future, I will feel accomplished.”

            Hannibal was smiling as he said this l, and Will ducked his head with a small smile of his own, still with the phantom feeling of Hannibal’s breath in his skin and the taste of orange in his tongue. 

* * *

 

             After that day, at least a month had passed before Will felt adventurous enough to try to do the recipe that Hannibal taught him on his own.

            It was a rainy Sunday; his phone remained blissfully quiet, no urgent calls coming from Jack Crawford and no friendly calls coming from Alana or Hannibal. His pack was bored inside the house, almost all of them taking naps.

            After he had lunch, after he had tidied up the house as much as the rainy climate allowed and fed the dogs, he was left without nothing to do and too much time in his hands, and was during these moments that he remembered that strange day.

            Will went into his kitchen and checked if he had all the ingredients, and once he confirmed, he hesitated only for a moment before he started separating all he needed. He asked Hannibal to teach him that day for days like this one.

            Will still remembered everything he needed to do, but the process took him twice longer than when he had done the cookies with Hannibal’s help, but Will wasn’t in a hurry and didn’t mind the extra work.

            When everything was done, a few cookies were slightly burned and the icing was a little more acid than their conjoined attempt, but it was still tasty, so Will didn’t mind.

            With the rain still lazily falling outside, Will sat down in his bed with a plate full of cookies, with pleasant sweetness in his mouth and quiet thoughts about italian orange cookies and a young Hannibal Lecter impressed by them.

 


	2. Baking the Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is settled during Naka-Choko (2x10). The second part is settled during/before Aperitivo (3x04).

 

* * *

 

            “It will not be long until the food is ready now, Will. No more than half an hour, I would say.”

            Will was looking at Hannibal when he said this, observing his smug expression. For once he was not doing anything to conceal how satisfied he was with the turn of the events.

            That wasn’t surprising for Will; Hannibal didn’t think he still needed to pretend in those moments, not when he was so sure he had won. It was no wonder he was looking so smug.

            “Not enough time to make a dessert,” Will pointed out before silence could settle between them.

            “I did not think about making desserts or accompaniments for today. The main dish will be more than enough for today.”

            “I’m a bit surprised about that, I have to say. I did think that the recipe was uncharacteristic simple for you, even more without other courses.”

            “As I said, the main dish is more than enough. I do not want anything to steal the protagonism of the meat you provided, Will.”

            Smug as hell. Will thought that the fact that he never punched Hannibal in the face could be considered a hard won personal achievement.

            “If you insist. But it’s too bad about not needing a dessert,” Will said, making a sad, blatantly fake expression. Fishing.

            “Why is that?” Hannibal asked, cocking his head. Biting as Will expected.

            “It is not really anything refined, but I did provide a dessert of sorts for us today. But if you think it’s not necessary…” Will shrugged.

            “Please. I would not dare be so impolite when you went to all this trouble to provide the meat and a dessert. What did you brought us?” Hannibal asked, his eyes twinkling.

            “It was far less trouble than the meat, believe me,” It wasn’t a lie; it took him no longer than an hour and a half to produce dessert, while the meat had been a bloody, tiresome mess “But it was a gratifying process, too.”

            Will went to one of the bags he had brought earlier, and took out of it a small plastic storage container, under Hannibal’s curious gaze. He put the storage container on the table, silently inviting Hannibal to take a peek.

            Hannibal accepted the invitation, and Will observed with attention the expression in his face when he opened the storage container - he wanted to see if he had managed to surprise the doctor, at least a little.

            And for a few seconds, he could confirm that he managed to; Hannibal’s eyes widened a little, his eyebrows rising in his forehead while he looked at the content in the storage container.

            When he looked up at Will, his expression was schooled again, but Will already had the satisfaction to know that he was able to surprise Hannibal.

            “I don’t think the icing is very good, but I gave it my best try.”

            Hannibal shook his head, an actual smile in his face.

            “If I was not afraid that it would spoil my appetite before dinner, I would already be tasting it.”

            Will raised his eyebrows slightly, in a mockingly pleading expression.

            “Only one, doctor. I would really like to hear your opinion.”

            Hannibal tried to appear disapproving, but Will could see a smirk in his lips.

            “Alright. Since you insist…”

            Will watched vividly as Hannibal took a cookie out of the plastic container and took a bite, eating slowly, the expression in his face becoming pleased as he swallowed it down.

            Will thought that Hannibal would immediately say something, but instead he took two more bites until he ate the whole cookie, and even so he didn’t say anything, and Will started to feel impatient.

            “So? Do you like it?” Will said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

            “Very much so, Will. It is quite amazing how you can keep surprising me in so many ways, even in such small details.”

            Will looked down for a moment, not wanting to demonstrate satisfaction at the praise.

            “It’s hardly a surprise when you taught me the recipe yourself.”

            Hannibal shook his head.

            “I merely showed you the way. What you did with what I taught you is completely your merit.”

            “I have been practicing lately. I’ve been having some boring days between the really eventful ones, and it’s a good time to better my skills in the kitchen.”

            The depressing part of it was that this wasn’t even a lie to keep Hannibal even more interested in him. It was shortly after his release from the BSHCI that Will noticed that he started to become more meticulous in the kitchen. He started to prepare even his dog’s food in a much more fancy, elaborated way than he used to be before.

            He knew this was Hannibal influence - both the influence he forced inside his head and the influence caused by the lightness of their former friendship. Hannibal had used more than one way to get under his skin, and the most hurtful ones weren’t when he used drugs or coerced convulsions on him.

            “Your efforts have been rewarded then,” Hannibal closed the lid of the plastic container neatly “And I thank you for this gift, Will. It will be very much appreciated, and not only for the taste.”

            Will knew that Hannibal would probably have appreciated the cookies even if their taste was awful - it was the thought behind the gesture that he enjoyed the most. The fact that Will had used the knowledge of something that Hannibal taught him to make this surprise.

            “I’m sure you do.”

            Hannibal’s expression was almost fond now, and it was making it hard to look at his face.

            Will was almost opening his mouth to break the silence when Hannibal turned to him.

            “As much as I would like to stay and let you try to persuade me to eat one more, I must excuse myself to get a wine on the cellar for our dinner. I think today asks for something more special than what we usually drink.”

            “Go right ahead, doctor.”

            With a smile, Hannibal left Will standing alone in the kitchen, looking at the pans still on the hot stove.

            Looking at those too familiar walls, Will allowed himself to smile a little. Gaining Hannibal’s trust was being easier than he had previously thought. He knew he couldn’t really dare to think that Hannibal's trust on him was blind, but the long pig provided for the dinner of tonight would do wonders to keep his murderous facet to the man – it was already doing, judging by the satisfaction that was on Hannibal’s face that entire night.

            The cookies weren’t part of the plan, but Will thought they were a nice little touch; a link to their past masked as a gift for their future, and Will was pleased to see that Hannibal reacted as he anticipated.

            And if Will felt genuine warmth when Hannibal praised him, no one outside of his head needed to know.

* * *

 

            After Will was released from the hospital, he survived mostly out of canned food in his first month at home, since he could barely stand entering his own kitchen.

            He only started cooking again when Winston gave him a sad look when Will once again served canned food for the pack. The sad resignation that he saw in the dogs was enough to make Will face his kitchen once again, at least long enough to make decent meals for his dogs.

            It was hard at first - nothing happened in his small, functional kitchen, but it didn’t matter, not when he still saw blood in the floors, covering his sink, not when he seemed to be cutting human flesh even as he prepared scratches for his dogs. Even so, it didn’t matter; he swallowed his discomfort and did what he had to do. Discomfort was a familiar feeling by now - familiar and meaningless when the worst things that he ever imagined had already happened.

            By the end of his second month in home, he already had adapted enough to do quick meals to himself without seeing blood at every corner. He was glad that these hallucinations stopped, even as it was replaced by the constant company of Abigail.

            Abigail had visited him a few times in the hospital, but she was nowhere in sight in the last two weeks he spent there. She was absent for so long that Will thought that she had decided to go after Hannibal by herself, that she had already found him and was haunting him in sunny Europeans streets. He only saw that this wasn’t the case when he woke up one afternoon to find Abigail playing with Buster and Daisy.

            Abigail was quiet at first, just observing everything that Will did without offering any input. Her wound was always open now, but she never acknowledged the blood dripping from her neck. Will was relieved to see her coming back, but he didn’t speak with her in the first few days. They were silent housemates, living in blissful isolation.

            As the days passed by, Abigail started to become bolder and more curious, started to talk with the dogs and started to ask Will questions. Will welcomed the change, welcomed the opportunity to hear some other voice than the Hannibal voice that lived inside his head. She would ask Will all kinds of serious and silly questions and listen to him for hours, staring at him with her big blue eyes, smiling like she never did in life.

            Abigail was the one that had the idea to use his own boat to go after Hannibal, and she even went with him to buy the necessary pieces of equipment for fix his motor. She was always attentive to what was happening to him, and it didn’t take her too long to notice that he was avoiding spending too much time in the kitchen.

            “It’s silly to avoid staying on kitchens. It’s not the sort of place you can afford to live without.”

            Abigail was sitting in a chair by the door, observing while Will quickly washed the pans he used to make lunch for the dogs.

            “I don’t plan to avoid it forever, but the associations are still too fresh on my mind.”

            Abigail smiled sadly at him; he knew she also remembered the sound of her desperate gasps, the sound of his dying breaths, the sound of Hannibal’s footsteps as he left them behind.

            “Even so,” She cocked her head; her wound neck was closed today, and Will was grateful for that detail “It wasn’t even in this kitchen. It’s time for you to get over it. I’m craving a more elaborated meal tonight.”

            Will smiled at her flippant attitude.

            “I’m the wrong father for it, Abigail. I was never too big in fancy cooking.”

            She rolled her eyes at him.

            “That’s bullshit, and you know it. But fine! You can at least bake me some goodies.”

            “I’m not too big in desserts,” He shook his head.

            “You can just do me those Italian orange cookies that Hannibal taught you.”

            “No.”

            Abigail looked unimpressed at his quick denial.

            “Why not?"

            “You know why.”

            “Oh, come on. Because it reminds you of him? There’s nothing these days that doesn’t remind you of him.”

            Abigail’s words were blunt and painful, but her tone was not cruel, just the tone of someone who knew the truth of what was being said, and Will couldn’t bring himself to feel angry at her.

            “But you don’t even eat,” Will tried to reason with her.

            “You do, “She shrugged “And if I’m craving some sweets, you probably are, too.”

            Will sighed, reluctant to see the truth on her words. He had been craving some sweet pastries in the past few days, but he rejected the idea of acting on it as soon as the thought came. He would never consider it if Abigail wasn’t looking at him with such a pleading expression.

            In the end he just gave up - these days he couldn’t bring himself to deny Abigail anything. He felt awfully guilty every time he thought about denying her.

            Will tried focusing only in the mechanical aspects of what he was doing, only paying attention to the way he mixed the ingredients and in Abigail, watching him with a smug expression. She behaved the entire time he was preparing the dough, and only spoke when he was putting the cookies in the oven.

            “Do you think this was the kind of life we would have had? Preparing meals together, going to touristic places like good American fools, getting to really know each other?”

            Will smiled sadly.

            “I think there would be a great deal more of blood and guts on this nice little fantasy.”

            “But it’s never only one thing with him, is it? He always has paradoxical goals when we are the subject.”

            Paradoxical was to put it mild, when Hannibal’s favourite hobby seemed to be hurting him only to put him together with his own hands. Or at least it used to be, before he got tired of playing with him and destroyed the game.

            “I used to think so, too,” Will sighed.

            Abigail’s words reminded him of the day that Hannibal taught him this recipe, at how at ease and delighted he seemed to be. This memory should be tainted by the betrayal, the certainty that their friendship never really meant anything more to Hannibal than a few interesting mental games, but he only felt sadness thinking about it. He only felt hurt, only abandoned by the one person that had had truly seen who he was, that had known all his sides.

            “I think it’s a shame that we never got to cook together, all of us,” Abigail sighed, her eyebrows making a frown “It would have been nice.”

            “It would.”

            “You should tell him this when we find him again.”

            Will raised both of his eyebrows.

            “Why would I do that?”

            “There’s no better way to hurt a man like Hannibal than words.”

            “Pardon?”

            “Hannibal breaths in blood. He rejoices at violence. Violence won’t ever break him, but words speaks to his soul, and his soul is maybe the only place he is still a little human, still a little weak. A little vulnerable.”

            Will looked at her face, then - it wasn’t a cruel or malicious remark. She said it in a bored, matter of fact tone. Abigail was always so calm now, which made her a source of stability in his worst days, as much as he hated to use her this way.

            “I can think of a few more ways.”

            In truth, Will had no idea what he would do once he saw Hannibal again. Sometimes he thought he would put his arms around him and never let him go again. Sometimes he thought he would slit his throat and let him bleed at his feet, to see if Abigail enjoyed the view. Either option sounded good, depending on his mood.

            “Not one more efficient than this, and you know it.”

            Will shook his head, but he wasn’t dismissing her words.

            “I thought you wanted to go with him."

            “I do want to go with him,” Abigail shrugged “But I’m not against making him suffer a bit before giving in. It’s the least he deserves, after abandoning us. And we both know he will never apologize for anything he did. 

            Will closed his eyes, seeing Hannibal behind his eyelids. Gutting him and forgiving him. Dropping him from his arms and asking for his forgiveness in the same breath.

            “No,” He said, softly “He never will.”

            Abigail become quiet after it, only observing Will as he took the cookies out of the oven and put the icing on it. She even stayed with him as he eat a few of them; the taste was fine, but the orange flavour was much more acid than the other times he did it.

            Afterwards, when Abigail went away (in whatever it was the place she went when she wasn’t near Will), Will put the cookies away in his kitchen cabinet, hoping that they would rotten before Abigail remembered to ask about it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this one! Only one more chapter to go now, and it will be posted in the next few days as well.


	3. Eating the Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part is settled after Digestivo (3x07) and before The Great Red Dragon (3x08). The second part is settled after The Wrath of the Lamb (3x13).

* * *

 

            When Will woke up that morning, it was to an empty bed.

            He frowned, and stretched his arm across the empty side, feeling that it was cold, which meant that Molly had been gone for a while. Unusual, since he usually woke up whenever she left the bed.

            Will wondered if that meant that he was finally acquiring some normal, non paranoid habits.

            It was only after he brushed his teeth and washed his face on the bathroom sink that he remembered that Molly had told him that she would be off earlier that day, because Wally had to take vaccination early in that morning. Will had even offered to drive them, but Molly declined it, used as she was to being a sole parent, and told Will that he should take the opportunity to sleep in for once in his day off.

            After that Will relaxed a little, understanding her absence, and took a shower for longer than normal. He dried off and got dressed, and went to the kitchen to start the day on his own.

            Spending time alone was never an issue for Will. They were a routine since his childhood; his father was always working, sometimes even working two jobs, and Will learned to live well in his own company, and this didn’t change in his adult life.

            But since he married Molly, all his time had turned into shared hours, with her and with Walter. Will really wasn’t used to the sensation of sharing all his awake moments with another person, but Molly never imposed herself, never pressed him to share what he was thinking when he didn’t want to. She had her own secrets, and while Will was aware that her secrets were probably nowhere as bad as his own dark corners, he was more than grateful to her for being so understanding.

            Looking at the kitchen that was almost exclusively Molly’s territory now, Will started to open the drawers to get a few ingredients. It wouldn’t be long until Molly was home along with Walter now, and he thought they would like to get a surprise breakfast when they arrived. Wally would probably be hungry, and Molly would appreciate the gesture.

            Will didn’t think too much in what he was doing, just mixing up some ingredients, thinking that Walter would love to have Will cooking for him. He and Molly married not long ago, but the boy already looked at him in awe, as one kid would look at his hero of a father. It honestly scared Will shitless most of time, to have a child look at him this way, but it also made him wish to never let him down, to never let him know the darkness that lived in the world that Will used to habit before marrying Molly.

            He smiled a little at the thought. Will could hardly believe the life he was living now, with a regular job, an impressionable stepson and a loving wife; he could hardly believe that a woman like Molly would want to share her life with someone as damaged as he was. Every time he looked at her Will felt immense gratitude for her kindness in letting Will experience the blissful normalcy of their marriage, in letting him experience what was like to live with someone so full of light as she was.

            Will was so absorbed in his thoughts that he only truly realized what he was doing when he started to cut the oranges, and once he did he startled and let the knife drop into the table, backing away a few steps.

            Looking at the dough he was doing from a distance, Will could confirm that yes, he was preparing for his wife and stepson the now very familiar recipe of orange Italian cookies that Hannibal taught him in what seemed to be forever ago.

            With a deep breath, Will closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he stared angrily at the dough as if it was personally responsible for everything he was feeling.

            Anger, at having a memory of his former life being thrown into his face without warning. Sadness that something so small and innocent was capable of holding such an undesired meaning. Guilty, because he felt as if he was betraying someone and he wasn’t even sure if he was betraying Molly or Hannibal.

            Will felt a full body tremor when he thought about his name. He always avoided thinking about Hannibal these days, avoided even thinking about his name. He knew he could never expel him completely of his life, Hannibal was to deep inside him for it to be possible and the marks in his body would never let him forget, but he could avoid and he could pretend. That was what he always did now, that was what he did when Molly hesitantly asked about Hannibal once, but it was hard to pretend when the force of a memory, even the force of his name inside his head was still capable of affecting Will like this.

            Swallowing, he picked the entire dough as if it was poisonous, and threw it into the garbage can; he then took the trash outside, because Molly would sure reprimand him if she saw how much food he wasted. Hell, he was even chastising himself for it, but he couldn’t stand to look at that dough, not for a second longer.

            When Molly and Walter arrived forty minutes later, Will had hot coffee waiting for them and fresh, recently bought bread. Both Molly and Walter were happy, both looked at him with warmth in their eyes, but even that wasn’t enough to make Will feel less like a failure.

* * *

 

            When Will arrived in their cabin that afternoon, it was to a very silent house.

            As soon as he entered and didn’t listen to any noise, he immediately went on alert, his heart hammering into his chest. He was away for at maximum fifty minutes in a quick run for groceries, not very long at all.

            Making as little noise as he could, Will walked into the rooms, seeing that nothing was really amiss, but he could only truly breathe again when he approached the bathroom and heard the noise of the shower. Relieved in knowing that Hannibal was still here and that they were fine, Will went to the kitchen to store the forgotten groceries he had bought, still feeling his heart beating a little faster than normal.

            Will tried to chastise himself for reacting so dramatically, but he knew that it was better to be safe than sorry. They weren’t living on the USA anymore, but their almost death was still recent enough for them to be recognizable, and they had to be careful at all times.         

            Even this ordinary grocery run that Will did was full of precautions, with Will wearing a hat, sunglasses and paying cash in a small store, that he already knew that didn’t have security footage. His beard was fuller now, to cover his still raw cheek scar and his curls were also longer, giving him a scruffy but younger appearance. It wasn't the best of the disguises, but it was enough to make it difficult a quick recognition of him.         

            Putting the cans in the cabinets, Will sighed deeply. Even spending such a short time away was stressful; he thought he would appreciate the opportunity to be away from Hannibal for once, but all he felt was anxiety for the possibility of being recognized and the overwhelming need to be close to Hannibal again.

            It frustrated him to no end, knowing that he was once again living in a suffocating co-dependency with Hannibal - even more intense, more dangerous than the first time they did this dance - but it was also comforting. There was freedom in letting go of something that always suffocated him, and accepting the part of himself that he always denied that existed. It seemed unavoidable, and it seemed finally peaceful.

            Of course, there was good days and bad days - it didn’t matter how glorious it was to kill alongside Hannibal on the cliff, he spend a whole life building morals and barriers against everything he was now, and these barriers still existed on his mind. In the good days, he could ignore or negotiate with his conscience. In the bad days… he was still learning what to do during the bad days.

            Today was being a good day so far, despite his anxiety in walking around the town alone. Nothing dangerous happened and Hannibal was fine, and that was all that Will could ask for in these days.

            Will was almost done storing all the groceries when he noticed a bowl full of something fresh, that smelled vaguely familiar and that definitely wasn’t there when he left the cabin this morning.

            Intrigued, he reached for the bowl, feeling his eyes widen a little when he noticed what he was looking at.

            It was a bowl full of orange cookies, with the icing done in a much more orderly and nice looking way than Will ever managed in all the times he did this recipe, and still a little warm to the touch.

            Will kept holding he bowl for long minutes, looking at the cookies as if it was an alien life form, completely at loss. It was the last thing he thought he would find here.

            “You were not supposed to see it until after lunch.”

            Will looked up, a little startled to see that he wasn’t alone anymore, but used enough to Hannibal moving as silent as a cat.

            “You made me orange cookies,” Will said, still a little dazzled.

            Hannibal smiled, and Will noticed him truly for the first time. His hair was still a little wet from the shower, and he was wearing a simple white dress shirt with an informal pair of dark slacks, and he looked very domestic to Will.

            “Yes, I did. I remember that once you did this recipe and brought me your cookies as a gift. I thought I ought to repay your efforts.”

            Will shook his head.

            “It’s been years.”

            “I’m aware. In my defence, I did not have the opportunity to repay this favour before.”

            Hannibal didn’t offer any more explanation, and Will supposed that he didn’t need to. Smiling a little, he approached Hannibal, the bowl still in his hand.

            “I did this recipe a lot of times on my own. I never forgot how to do it and it often came to my mind, even when I didn’t want it to.”

            “I suppose it is comparable to a memory, and memories have a way of imposing itself on us, independently if they are desired or not.”     

            “Sometimes they were desired. Sometimes… not.”

            Hannibal gave him a sympathetic look.

            “We have many tainted memories between us.”

            “It didn’t felt exactly tainted; it only... made me sad. I remember that in the first time I did it on my own, it was a very nice memory, I thought about how you liked me enough to teach me something of your youth, that you liked me enough to spend that time with me. But after…” Will smiled, bitterly “It become a sad, bitter memory, because all I could think about was that it was a meaningless moment to you, just one more tactic to make me more dependent on you.”

            Hannibal sighed, and took the bowl from Will’s hand, putting it on the table.

            “While I would agree that my intentions towards you were often not very sincere during these times, this was not one of those moments.”

            Will scoffed.

            “Wasn’t it?”

            “It was a very genuine moment of my part. I was actually quite surprised when I analyzed my actions, later on. But it’s hardly unexpected, considering that you always had this effect on me.”

            Will didn’t comment anything - he wasn’t going to blindly believe in Hannibal, even if he looked sincere enough and even if they were trying to not lie to each other these days.

            Hannibal seemed to realize that Will was going to resist, because he shook his head a little, with a small sigh.

            “Will, I cannot truly undo the bad memories of our past. I don’t feel regret for many things, but I often caught myself wishing that I had acted in a different way toward you during some moments of our lives. It’s a teacup that will not come back together, no matter what I do.”

            Will smiled, sadly, not saying anything but feeling the weight of all the unsaid things between them.

            “However, I can try to give you some new, pleasant memories.”

            With that, he picked a cookie out of the bowl and raised it to Will’s lips.

            Will frowned a little, remembering the first time, when they did it the other way around, but he opened his mouth and let Hannibal place the entire cookie on his tongue.

            Chewing slowly, Will let the taste be absorbed by his tongue, giving an involuntary moan when he tasted how good the orange taste and the icing felt in his mouth, better than the times he did it alone. He chewed until there was nothing left, and looked at Hannibal again, who was looking a little hungry himself.

            With his heart beating a little faster, Will felt the need to act on an impulse.

            “Can I have another one?”

            Hannibal didn’t say anything, but he raised his eyebrows a little as he reached for another cookie.

            This time Will bit down slowly, his lips brushing Hannibal’s fingers just a little, enough to make Hannibal’s eyes a little more dark.

            “I am glad to see that you find it tasteful, Will,” Hannibal said when Will was finished.

            “They’re really good,” Will said, licking his lips a little, noticing the way that Hannibal looked at his mouth.

            They had been in this place before. Heavy silences, Hannibal looking at him as if he wanted to devour him whole, and his own heart beating fast with the yearning of a feeling never acted upon. They had been in this place before, and every time, Will fled with a cheap excuse.

            This time, he tried to not think too much in what he was doing, and he blurted out:

            “Don’t you want to get a taste?”

            Hannibal looked at his eyes them, still with the same hungry look, even more now that they both knew that they definitely weren’t talking about the cookie.

            Will never knew who moved first, but the next thing he knew, they were at each other’s faces, pushing their lips together into a messy kiss.

            Unused to be kissing someone taller and larger than him, Will didn’t know what to do with his hands at first, but ended up looping them awkwardly around Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what he was doing, cupping Will’s face with his hands and licking into his mouth as if he was truly trying to get the cookie’s flavour from Will’s mouth.

            When they separated, Will was breathing heavily, and he let his forehead rest against Hannibal’s.

            “I am by no means complaining, but I am curious to know what brought this up,” Hannibal said against his lips.

            Will couldn’t blame him - this wasn’t planned, even if he had thought about it before. He was never attracted to men, but Hannibal was the exception to all his rules, and it seemed natural that he would break this one, too. Will had avoided it the few times they almost got too close, but now that they finally kissed, it didn’t seem like a big step for them - it was like the first time they held hands, or when they started sharing a bed; it was just one more way to explore their ever growing intimacy.

            “I didn’t plan it. It just… seemed the natural thing to do.”

            Hannibal didn’t answer, but Will knew that he would be pressing the matter in some other occasion; he never liked to not have the full grasp of the facts.

            “If you need an explanation, you can always thank the orange cookies,” Will said, only half joking.

            Hannibal hummed a little against him.

            “Dear Will, if that’s true, I am going to bake you Anginettis next time.”

            Will frowned a little and even opened his mouth in a question, but Hannibal seized this moment to kiss Will once again, and after a few minutes, Will had already forgotten what he was going to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anginetti, or Italian Love Knot Cookies, or Knot Cookies, or even Lemon Knots are [a recipe](http://mangiabenepasta.com/knot_cookies.html) of traditional Italian cookies that are usually made for special occasions... especially weddings. :)
> 
> I was originally going to use this recipe in this fic, but I thought it was way too complicated and that Will so wasn't going to make this recipe several times on his own.
> 
> [This was the recipe](http://allrecipes.com/recipe/10107/kathys-italian-cookies/) that I used as the orange cookies recipe, in case any of you want to try it out (I admit that I still didn't).
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this last chapter! Thank you very much for everyone who commented or left kudos, I really appreciate it <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always welcome.
> 
> The remaining chapters will be posted in the next few days.


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